


The Most Important Place

by alasse



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Character Death, Post-Canon, post-513
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-08
Updated: 2016-07-08
Packaged: 2018-07-22 06:12:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7423186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alasse/pseuds/alasse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"The call comes while Brian is doing something completely ordinary, and it really shouldn’t be surprising."</i>
</p>
<p>Post 513, Brian's mom dies, and Justin - and the whole gang - help him deal with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Most Important Place

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on livejournal in 2007, [here](http://alasse.livejournal.com/10176.html)

The call comes while Brian is doing something completely ordinary, and it really shouldn’t be surprising. 

Regardless of what those B-list, overly sentimental movies want to pretend, death doesn’t announce itself ominously with a thunderous storm, a dramatic music crescendo or a “bad feeling”: it just happens. It blindsides you when you least expect it, when you’re debating with yourself over some campaign or arguing with your partner over the remote control and whose turn it is to do the dishes.

Which is why he’s just come off a conference call with Leo Brown when a wobbly-voiced Claire is on the line, telling him his mother has died. Brian says nothing, and hangs up. The irony of the moment doesn't fail to strike him: back when his father died, he was in the middle of an ordinary thing for him – a fucking amazing threesome; now, he's in the middle of work. If he's not careful, he's going to become a respectable member of society.

Brian stands in the middle of his office, gazing down at the floor. There’s a white buzzing sound in his ears and he thinks it would be far too much of a ‘Days of Our Lives’ episode if he turns out to have a brain tumor. Maybe he’s a bit more morbid than usual. He looks up to find a concerned-looking Ted staring at him.

“What is it, Theodore?” he asks, and can’t help but feel his voice sounds a bit off.

Apparently, Ted thinks so as well, because he looks even more worried and asks, “Bri, are you okay? I’ve been calling your name for a while but you seemed… out of it.”

“Don’t worry, Theodore, I haven’t finally cracked under years and years of substance abuse,” he answers with a smirk. “My mother died,” he casually adds. 

Usually, he would have laughed out loud at Theodore’s double take and wide eyes, but some annoying little part of his brain is, not touched, but, _something_ at Theodore’s concern.

“Bri, I’m - I’m so sorry," Ted breathes out earnestly, "If there’s anything I can do, anything at all, I - please, let me know.”

Brian has many comebacks on the tip of his tongue, ranging from _”Yeah, plan a celebration party”_ to _"Fuck off”_ , but he stays quiet and simply nods.

“Will you be taking the rest of the day off?” Ted asks hesitantly.

“Might as well," Brian shrugs. "Claire’s probably as useless as she was when my dad died.” 

He claps Ted on the shoulder, grabs his keys and briefcase and with a "Cancel my appointments" to the new assistant, he leaves.

+

Justin’s having coffee with his roommate and her boytoy _du jour_ , laughing at something she said when his phone rings. He recognizes the ring tone and his face lights up in a smile he rarely lets New York see. 

“Hey!” he greets.

There’s a pause on the other side of the line, and all Justin can hear is breathing, the faint wheeze of a deviated septum. “Brian?” he asks, the trickling of concern traveling up his spine.

“My mother’s dead.”

Justin lets out a brief gasp, but doesn’t say anything. Saying I’m sorry is so stupid. In this case, Brian’s old adage fits nicely, because it _is_ total bullshit to say it. Brian hadn’t seen his mom for more than three years and the last time he saw her… well, Justin was damn pissed off at the woman when he found out what she’d said. Still, she was his mother.

“I’m coming for the funeral," he says decisively. 

“Justin." He could picture Brian pinching the bridge of his nose, frowning slightly. “Don’t. I - She... Don’t waste the money.”

“I’m not going for her. I’m going for you, and because you’ll need someone to give you periodical blowjobs so you don’t strangle Claire and her kids.”

A pause. Then, “Well, hurry up then, you little twat.”

With the briefest of explanations, Justin’s out of the coffee shop and heading to his apartment, silently grateful he’s doing well enough to be able to pay an airplane ticket without being reduced to eating ramen noodles for a month.

Once on the plane, he has enough time to start feeling a bit anxious about the upcoming days. He sort of remembers when Brian’s dad died. Brian didn’t really share much with him, but he remembers him in a bowling shirt, looking at once released and haunted. He knows what Brian went through with his parents, between hints from Debbie and Michael and some painful truths from Brian himself after one too many - he has a fairly good idea of the hell the Kinney household was. He wonders how Brian will react, how he’s reacting right now. His dad hit him, abused him with words, but his mother, she let it happen. Which one’s worse?

He knows one thing, though. Pity and condolences are definitely _not_ the way to handle this.

+

If Brian has to stand one more look of pity and _"I’m sorry for your loss"_ , he might just break something. Or someone. Claire is looking especially inviting.

Brian arrived to his mother’s house to find his sister falling apart. Not in the fucking hysterics she was in when his father died, but in some sort of permanent shock. With occasional sniffling and pained sighs. If he’d known Joanie dying was what it took for Claire to shut up and quit whining, he would've looked into hiring a hitman a long time ago.

So of course it falls to him to organize everything, pay for everything and bite back an "Any good fucks lately?" to Father Tom, that hypocritical closet case. Brian even has to write the damn announcement for the paper, play nice with the church ladies and swallow back curses to their condolences. 

All the while, Claire just sits there. Her demon spawn are playing Nintendo or some shit, thank fuck, so he has a relative amount of peace while deciding what Joanie should wear. Brian has a brief flash of another time, when sugar cubes or sugar packets were the most important thing to decide for someone else’s death. "I’ll make sure we get packets, mom," he quietly says.

Brian asked Ted to pass on the news to the rest, didn’t feel up to dealing with the whole thing. But he did call Lindsay himself, and she said she was coming down from Toronto with Gus, which was the only reason he didn’t tell her not to. Debbie called him immediately after finding out, but she just asked at what time the wake was going to be, seemed to know he’d rather have no banal words. Mikey checks up on him, like Brian knew he would – old habits die hard – but after he’s convinced Brian isn’t going to roll his mother’s bible down the street after consuming an entire bottle of Beam, he eases up.

Finally, the whole gory business is done: casket chosen, body prepped, plot ready, and Brian can head home to rest before the service in the morning. It’s truly strange how mundane the preparations for death can be. They’re almost redundant, because they’re for the living. Everything: the wakes, the funerals, the receptions - they’re all for the living. After all, the dead are dead.

On his last ounce of patience, Brian says goodbye to Claire and opens the door, when a quiet voice stops him.

“Uncle Brian?”

Ah, fuck. His freaking demon spawn of a nephew, who accused Brian of molesting him. This is really the last thing he needs. He turns to face the little asshole, raising an eyebrow.“Yes, John?” he impatiently asks.

“Um, can I… talk to you?” John asks nervously.

Brian is about to tell him in no uncertain terms to go fuck himself, but there’s a look in John’s eyes that stops him. A look he recognizes, a look he saw in his own eyes once, staring at himself in the mirror; in Mikey's puppy dog brown eyes, in Justin's bright blue ones - the look of a scared and insecure young man. He fights hard to stop any shock from showing on his face. “C’me on. Let's go outside.” 

+

Brian and John face each other in the front porch, the crisp night air making John shiver slightly. He stares at his uncle for a moment, and feels at once fear and admiration. Brian looks invincible, dangerous, and beautiful. John doesn’t know how to say what he has to.

“So - what’s up?” Brian’s voice is just a bit softer, just a bit less threatening. It’s enough for John to muster up some courage.

“Uh… I - well, I wanted to say sorry. For what I did - you know…” he trails off.

“Attempting to steal my money, stealing my bracelet, insulting me, and then making the cops come after me ‘cause I molested you?” Brian asks, an edge in his voice. 

John cringes, lowers his eyes. “Yeah… I…” he takes a deep breath. “I was scared.”

Brian simply lifts an eyebrow.

“That day I saw… stuff. Some of your things and I. I got a bit freaked out.” John closes his eyes, and he sees that moment clearly. Going through Brian's drawer, finding the videos, the dildos, coming face to face with a lifestyle he'd only ever heard about.

“Why? Think the big, bad homos were out to get you?” Brian asks mockingly.

“No," John whispers, looking down at his feet. "because I - I liked them,” he says, looking up to meet his uncle's eyes. “I tried not to, kept hearing what Grandma said about people like that… like you. I swear I tried to be -”

“Straight?” Brian prompts.

John nods. He really did try. Tried dating and kissing girls, tried feeling them up. But, he just _couldn't_. 

Brian seems to take a deep breath and steps closer to John. “Listen, kid. You can do one of two things: you can face who you are, and go with it, be a _man_ about it, or you can be some pathetic little wannabe breeder, one of those sad closet cases who are miserable all their lives." John glances back at the door, thinking of his mom and what she'll say. He can imagine her calling him all those things she calls uncle Brian. His uncle follows the direction of his gaze and shrugs. “You have to live your life for yourself, and fuck anyone who doesn’t like it. But if you’re not up for it and Granny’s tales of damnation are too much for you... Whatever. It’s your life. It’s your choice.”

With that, Brian turns and walks to his car. John watches him go, and stays out on the porch for a long time. Not for the first time, he wishes he'd known his uncle sooner, better. Wishes he could be as brave as Brian seems to be.

+

Justin’s pacing the loft, fighting the urge to call Brian. He’s probably up to his eyeballs with funeral stuff, or, worst case scenario, up to his balls in someone else. After all, this is all bets off and usual forms of pain management on. But Justin hopes not. He really, really hopes not.

As if in answer, the door to the loft rolls back and Brian comes in, looking absolutely exhausted and drained, but not drunk or fucked out. It takes him a moment to notice Justin and when he does he doesn’t speak, doesn’t say anything. He just drops his keys, briefcase and jacket and moves towards him, kisses him hard. He tips his head back a little and Justin sees all he has to. The raw need, the unwelcome and confusing pain. The request. "Make me forget for a while."

Brian’s body is thrumming with a strange energy, a strange intensity that Justin can feel everywhere. They’re fucking hard and fast and it’s so much, so much. It makes him want to laugh and cry and, fuck, he’s missed this.

Later, lying side by side, feeling blissfully spent, Justin takes his time looking at Brian. Just looking at him. A body of sleek lines and sharp angles, of constantly battling strength and vulnerability. A moving contradiction that’s more perfect than anything else he’s ever seen.

New York is amazing. But a second of staring at Brian gives Justin more true inspiration than a month in the city.

+

Brian’s fastening his tie, focusing on the details to keep anything else at bay. He sees Justin behind him through the mirror and gives him a small smile. The kid looks hot in a suit.

“You look so hot in that suit,” Justin says, smiling back.

Brian suppresses a chuckle. There’s a reason he and Justin are together, and fuck if time isn’t making him give in to the lesbian in him. 

They’re having coffee before going over to the cemetery when Brian remembers to tell Justin. “My nephew John is gay.”

Justin promptly spits out his coffee. “What? Demon spawn John? Asshole John who accused you of molesting him? That John?”

“Well, I don’t have other nephews called John, so yeah, _that_ John,” replies Brian, rolling his eyes.

Justin seems totally flabbergasted. Finally, after a moment, he sighs and shakes his head. “Shit. Poor kid.” 

“You can say that again.”

+

The whole gang arrive together to the cemetery, Emmett attempting to look subdued in a black, velvet shirt that’s drawing glances from his mom’s church crowd. Mikey gives Brian a hug and a swift kiss that draws even more glances. Ben pats his shoulder, Ted gives him a swift hug and the rest have to wait until Debbie is done almost choking Brian. They don’t offer their condolences, they don’t express their regret that Joan is dead. They’re at the funeral for Brian, and if they learnt anything when his father died is that it’s best to keep quiet. Brian is grateful, though he’d never say it.

Justin feels strangely proud that Brian’s chosen family has finally figured out how to treat him, for the most part. 

On the other side of the coffin, two people stare at the group assembled beside Brian. Claire feels the old bitterness rising, at her beautiful and successful brother, who managed to rise above their childhood, who found so many people that love him. Who isn’t alone. John feels a glimmer of hope. The blond guy who caught him with the bracelet is there, and a whole bunch of people… not there for his Grandmother, but for his uncle. Maybe being this doesn’t mean he’ll be alone. 

Father Tom talks about Joan, about her devotion to the church and to her religion. About how she cooked for benefits and organized prayer circles. He feels sad, truly sad, that he can’t talk about her love for her children, or her great job raising a family. And he won’t, because he’s already a liar in one way and doesn’t want to be more of one. 

At last, the casket is lowered and people start leaving. A blond woman steps out of a taxi and a gleeful yell cuts through the silence.

“Daddy!”

Brian turns, sees Gus running towards him and Lindsay not far behind. His face splits into a smile, and he kneels down to receive his boy in his arms. “Sonny boy!” he exclaims, burying his face in the soft hair. Ah, how he missed him.

“Are you okay, Daddy?” Gus asks him with a serious look on his face. “Are you sad?”

Brian looks at his son, the concerned hazel eyes, so much like his own, taking him in. He grins and says “I’m okay, sonny boy. And I’m not sad, because you’re here.”

“Good,” Gus declares, beaming and giving him another hug.

After a moment, Brian stands up, and Gus holding his hand, walks to greet Lindsay. “Lindz… thanks for coming,” he says sincerely.

“Oh, Brian,” she whispers, and hugs him.

Most people have left, but Claire and her two sons remain, watching the scene before them in absolute surprise. Noticing them looking, Brian walks towards them on impulse, Gus with him. He doesn’t know if he should, but fuck it. He stands in front of them and looks down to speak to Gus. 

“Sonny boy, this is your Aunt Claire and these are your cousins, John and Peter,” he explains.

Gus looks perplexed for a minute, then asks, “Like Auntie Emmett and Uncle Mikey and Ben and Uncle Ted?”

Brian chuckles, “Yeah, kind of.”

“Brian - how? I thought you…” Claire asks, confused.

“I _am_ ,” he tells her. “But Lindsay wanted a kid, so I helped her out. And nine months later, Gus came along.”

“How old is he?”

“Seven.”

“And you never told us? Mom… Daddy?” Claire is clearly surprised.

“Dad met him, once, and it was enough. I didn’t want Gus to be subjected to Joanie,” Brian explains. 

Claire nods and wonders how it’s possible to be related to someone and to be so very far apart from them. She looks once more at the people who are waiting for her brother and realizes that blood amounts to little if there’s no love. If there’s no real love. And that love means much more than genes, in the end.

She says goodbye, tells the boys it’s time to go. But John hangs back, crouches down to say goodbye to his little cousin properly. When he stands up, Brian puts his hand on John’s shoulder, just for a second. John understands. Despite everything he did to him, Brian will be there if he needs him.

+

Brian stands in front of Joan’s grave. The day is slightly overcast, heavy gray clouds battling with the late autumn golden sunshine. He stares at the stone in front of him, trying to make some sense of what he’s feeling.

He doesn’t feel overwhelming grief because his mother is dead, because the truth is, he considered her lost since the moment she allowed Jack to hit him, since she stood there, silently, leaving to drink and pray instead of protecting her son. He doesn’t feel sadness at the loss of possibility - the possibility that Joan might have accepted him, come to terms with her gay son. He lost that the moment she told him cancer was his punishment for being gay. It was right then when he understood she’d never accept him.

Because life isn’t some Hallmark movie. Parents don’t always see the errors of their ways and learn to love their children as they are, families don’t come together in a touching hospital scene. Life just is, and sometimes it’s fucking terrible. People die, and fathers hit their kids, and mothers let them. Beautiful young men get bashed and terrified older men get cancer. Homophobic assholes throw slurs. Places get bombed. There’s hate and injustice. And the “bad guys” don’t get caught.

But, then again, sometimes life can also be fucking amazing. It can have lampposts and sunshine smiles. A small body cradled in his arms. Sometimes, the bad guys can be defeated. There’s dancing, and fucking, and lemon squares. There’s people who love you more than you think, and friends who become your family. There’s someone who sticks by you, who keeps coming back. There’s ridiculously romantic, and silent promises, and rings that don’t need to be worn to carry meaning.

Brian's hand softly traces the headstone, the carved name. She died alone, totally alone. Of a heart attack. And a bad liver.

"Was it worth it, mom? Are you in heaven?"

Despite it all, he hopes that if there is a heaven, Joan’s in it. It’s the least she could get for her troubles and her piety. And, maybe, if there is a God, she’ll learn something about what it means to be a true Catholic, what it means to be a good person. To love. 

Brian suddenly remembers something he read, a while ago. About how living for life in heaven was a waste of time, because what mattered most was the place you were in right now. He smiles, because he thinks that he’s finally come to terms with living for himself – not for his image, or to prove something to people who’d never see it.

Somehow, he feels free. He feels like he can breathe a little bit easier, like he’s put a very old demon to rest.

“Brian? Ready to go to Woody’s?” Justin’s next to him, arm snaking across his waist. Everyone is meeting them there, to get drunk and give Joan a truly Irish send off. 

Brian kisses Justin – _this is what love looks like, Mom_ – and together they walk out of the cemetery and into the world of the living.

+++

_“We shouldn’t live as if life in Heaven mattered more than this life in this world, because where we are is always the most important place.”_  
\- Philip Pullman


End file.
